


If I Weren't Your Prisoner

by Hoppskibjack



Series: 14 Ar Music Video [1]
Category: Eurovision Song Contest RPF, Music RPF
Genre: 14 Ár music video, BDSM, BDSM Scene, Copious Boot Mentions, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, F/M, Gen, Leashes, Leather Trousers, No Sex, OFC Domme, Power Dynamics, Power Exchange, Sub Matti, What-If, hatari
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 16:57:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20029201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hoppskibjack/pseuds/Hoppskibjack
Summary: What would the music video for14 Árlook like? How would Matthías deal with the power switch necessary to tell that story as the submissive central character. An exploration of coming to terms with submission and an excuse to talk about Hatari's harsh vocalist on a leash.





	If I Weren't Your Prisoner

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the NSFW Hatari discord server for the prompt, support and their desire to read this. The original female character is designed to be a template for the person reading it (if they wish) that's why her appearance isn't specified beyond her blouse. **Special thanks** to DecidedlyUndecidedly for the music video outline which I borrowed heavily from and for editing the final draft as well as Hatari Translations on tumblr for the Icelandic help. <3

Balance. 

That had been one of the key elements Hatari sought when they created their stage image and when they were making new music. Balancing light and dark, harsh and melodic, angel and devil was a key part of their performance. So, it made sense for Matthí to write lyrics that swapped the central suffering figure from Klemens in _Klámstrákur_ to himself in _14 Ár_. 

Not that Klemens (and Andrean) played that character as suffering. It had become more of a celebration of sex than anything else, and he had to liberally apply a serious face when the audience went wild within the first few drum beats. Only his cousin could discover the song was meant for people in fishnets. 

Now here they were, preparing to film a music video for _14 Ár_ and Matthías was the one pitched into an unlikely role. At least he wasn’t in fishnets. His stomach tightened. 

“Matthías.”

The frontman’s eyes flicked up from where he had scribbled some lyrics, an attempt at taking his mind off his twisting stomach and landed on Klemens’ expectant face. He didn’t speak at first, just raised his eyebrows, hoping for a look that said, ‘Of course I was listening to every word, but I had important things to think about before I contributed’. 

“Have we agreed on the staging? The studio floor layout?” Klemens asked, obviously irritated by having to repeat himself. His hands tensed, moving from his hips and then stilling as he crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Já, Klemens. It's ok.”

“Ok!?”

Matthí had looked down at his lyrics again, but looked back up at Klemens’ sharp tone. “I don’t have any criticisms, Klemens. Good work, as always, on all of it.”

Klemens seemed to calm a little at this, a smile appearing on his face when he realized he had misunderstood. He uncrossed his arms and glanced down at the lyrics that had occupied Matthí’s time, drawing a finger under a couple of lines. “Those are good.”

“Takk.”

Einar had apparently, at some point, grown tired of the cousins’ disagreements as the sound of his electronic drum kit filled the space. The song would be mostly mimed for his part, with Matthí and Klemens actually singing and the sound filled in later by the studio recording. The stage performance was one of the easiest yet, but this performance would be heightened dramatically. After Eurovision and the tour their budget had gone up, and they had decided they could afford a more extravagant-looking production. So, naturally it had the most teething problems. During rehearsals for their tour they had bounced ideas off each other, playing with the idea of balance. 

“I don’t need to be crawling in the video.” Matthí said, two run throughs of the stage performance and two sore legs later. “On tour we have to have me kneeling, but on video we get the same effect by altering the levels of the staging and using the camera.” Something about this whole song was getting to him and had been since the first time they did this stage setup. Now Klemens had the idea of him crawling on a leash, and he didn’t know what to feel.

Klemens sighed, running a hand down his face. He looked tired. “If you really don’t want to, fine, but the audience loves the kneeling, so I think we should go bigger. For the video, we want higher drama. I know someone who might be able to help you.”

“Help me? Help me with what?” 

“I will give you her email address, Matthí.” 

\---

With some trepidation Matthías closed the heavy door, hung up his coat on a peg nearby and looked around. The place was clean with modern furnishings: it could easily be mistaken for a home that also housed a business. And really, when he considered it, that’s what it was. A business to help him get over whatever issue this was and restore his confidence in his character and himself. It sounded so simple when he thought about it, but with every second that passed, the thought that he was making a mistake grew a little more. Surely he could put up with one music video. He could push his feelings aside and have it over and done with. 

But he couldn’t fool himself, there was something more here than just crawling. 

“Saell, Matthías.”

“Sael.”

The first thing Matthí noticed about the woman who greeted him was her clothes. She was tall in heeled boots, dressed in plain if tasteful attire, no fetish wear or latex in sight. Her top was dark purple, tailored to resemble a corset, but it wasn’t the over-the-top bustier he had seen women (and men) wearing at their shows. If she hadn’t greeted him by name he would have thought he had walked into someone’s home by accident. She certainly didn’t look like a Domme. 

“I’m Violet.” She gestured for him to come into the sitting room. “Elta mig.” 

“Eltu mig,” he corrected without thinking as he started to follow. The misstep in her Icelandic was small, and he only corrected it out of habit and a lot of nervousness. 

Yet when she turned, there was a smirk appearing on her lips, he suddenly felt very foolish for the correction. This is exactly how he wanted to start this off, he thought wearily, on the wrong foot, and with the wrong impression given. 

“Oh, now, don’t look like that. While a sad puppy face suits you, I took no offense.” Her words sounded genuine, and there was a gentle quality to her voice that seemed counterintuitive to why he was here. She dominated other people? He was having trouble believing that. 

“I think maybe, this was a mistake.” He tried to say it calmly, easing it into the polite conversation. To pardon himself and explain that he had misunderstood what she offered. Instead, he blurted it out, standing near the corner of a small plush sofa, hesitating and feeling like he needed to run. 

“Oh?” She sounded slightly surprised, but said no more than that. Instead, she gestured for him to sit and waited until he did so before she sat across from him. “Let’s start with why you’re here.”

“My cousin,” he paused, maybe that was the wrong route to take, “my band thinks I need this, they’re probably overreacting. They think I need a crash course in the ‘submissive side’. As I said in the email, it’s just a music video for one of our songs. While I’m sure you would be fantastic in it, I’ll be wasting your time.”

“You’re here now - leaving at this point would be a waste of your time.”

“Well —“

“And you emailed me saying you needed some guidance for the dynamic of the music video. Klemens thought I could help.” She was speaking more assertively now, but not yet on that side of demanding. She tapped a few times on her phone. “Your band persona is masculine, dominant and powerful, and for this song, it’s all taken away.”

Again, Matthías opened his mouth to speak, but this time was silenced with a look. 

“That is a hard thing to play without being cliché. Yet you’ve done it on-stage before, rather well, and seemed rather comfortable doing it. Oh, I have internet access Matthías, don’t look so confused. I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing you perform live, but I think I’ve seen enough to understand the central theme. I do my homework. So, what’s the real problem here? Playing submissive isn’t the whole issue. Is it just that you need a Domme to step in and hold the leash?”

The real problem. The confusion that sat in the pit of his stomach, rolling like a snake twisting to escape was only a small part of it. Playing a submissive character wasn’t the whole issue, it was part of the duality, and the balance. It was theatre, something he loved. 

He knew what the problem was. 

Looking up, he saw Violet sat patiently waiting for him to answer. He scratched the side of his face, trying to fill the silence with something. The problem was everything no one could see. It was the feeling of arousal that crept without warning under his skin when he was kneeling in front of all those people. It was not being able to shake it. With Klemens being the one in front of him singing, those feelings were momentarily kept under control, but the exchange of power, however brief, was still there, with the context of the song and its message. He was not method. He had stayed ‘in character’ in front of the cameras during Eurovision for a practical reason, but these feelings were being encouraged and sparked by the situation. 

“I like it.”

Soft, gentle words that he barely believed he had spoken answered her question. Getting them out made him feel a little bolder and a little braver. “We do need someone, yes. It’s more than that. I shouldn’t... it isn’t the way I am, but I do. Do like being that way.” His voice strengthened a little, and he couldn’t help but notice she was smiling, gently nodding like she was some sort of kinky therapist, and he was having a breakthrough. 

“Do you feel a bit better?” She asked, tipping her head. 

“Slightly.” 

“Good,” she said, standing. “Follow me then, Matthías. Can I call you Matthí?”

He nodded and followed, but his heart was in his throat.

\------

“Normally I’d use some bondage, but I feel like less is more for you. After all, why give you training wheels when you can already ride a bike without them?”

Matthí straightened his back from his spot kneeling on the floor in front of her, unsteady and unsure as he tried to rest his weight on his heels instead of his knees. The room was dim, lit by soft lights with soft furnishings and no sex toys anywhere in sight. Her hand trailed across his hair, fingernails scratching his scalp as she walked around him. If he could find the right spot to settle his weight in, it would be easy to just sit and drift like this, almost like a meditation. 

“How are you feeling down there?” She paused, grasping him by his shoulders and adjusting him, so he sat back on his heels. Her long fingers gently played with his hair, making him look up. He quickly pushed down a flash of concern that threatened him in exchange for a shy, half-smile.

“Better.” He said softly, leaning his head back into her fingers. She took the weight of his head in her hand, staring down at him with the barest hint of a smile. Yet he quickly winced as her hand tightened in his hair, pulling his head all the way back. He felt tears prickle in his eyes as he stared up at her, confused, painful shocks irradiating from where her fingers grasped his hair. 

“Hey that hurts!” Matthí’s voice scaled up slightly, surprised by the sudden pain. He stayed still, staring up at Violet. The urge to pull away was strong, but he knew it would make it hurt even more. 

“Is it too much?” Her voice was tinged with concern, and her grip slackened very slightly, immediately bringing some relief as his scalp continued to tingle and Matthí shook his head as much as he could. 

“No.” His bravado didn’t allow him to say anything else, and he squeezed his eyes shut when the fingers tightened again. The pain once again flooded his senses, and he heard himself whimper. 

“Matthí, are you sure?” She asked and Matthías suddenly felt himself hating her voice, his eyes shut to keep the tears from spilling down his cheek. He had felt worse pain on stage, but this was something more, something heightened that made this intimate contact blaze behind his eyes. He could hang on, she would let go if he just showed his strength. 

“Matthías, answer me, is it too much?”

She spoke in such a gentle way that Matthías looked up, surprised she could be so calm while she was causing such discomfort. His eyes were threatening to spill the tears produced by the pain, which pain was getting worse, the hand in his hair tightening into a ball of white pain that sat pulsing behind his eyes. He couldn’t take it. 

“Yes!” The word finally slipped out, breaking the silence. The humiliation set in even as the fingers released, and the pain began to subside. As quickly as the pain began it ended, and her hand was gently carding through his hair again, massaging his scalp and making Matthías question whether it happened at all. His scalp was tingling and warm, a pleasant if distracting sensation compared to before. 

She crouched down next to him, tipping his chin up with her index finger and meeting his eyes. “You could have stopped that earlier,” she said, wiping away a tear from the corner of his eye. Her other hand occasionally reached up to smooth the hair on the side of his head and when she spoke again her voice was firmer, “I can’t help you if I can’t trust that you’ll tell me when you need to stop.”

“You could have said so,” Matthías began, but was cut off with a look. Did she expect him to apologize? He wasn’t the type to jump forward with an accusation without any thought, but he didn’t know how to respond. 

“You’re a smart boy Matthías, I asked you if it was too much. All you had to do was be honest. I had to almost rip your hair out before you told me to stop.” 

She had a point. 

“Let’s try this again shall we?” Violet’s fingers began to slowly unbutton his shirt, her eyes meeting his as her hands went lower and lower. When she reached the end of Matthías’ shirt she pushed it back, drawing a fingernail slowly up his skin, pressing hard into the flesh until she felt him begin to pull away. 

“Does it hurt?” 

“Yes.” There was no hesitation, no pride in his voice as he moved away from the sharp nail. 

“Good boy.” 

\-----

He had convinced the rest of the band that trousers were necessary in this music video, a decision that he knew other performing arts groups didn’t have to make. If they had their way he’d be wearing fewer clothes than Klemens, and he wasn’t willing to go completely naked on camera. At least not in addition to everything else he was doing. A win for Matthías, or so he thought until he realized leather trousers were horribly uncomfortable to crawl in. Klemens was quick to point this out; his cousin was so helpful. How Andrean did this so often in more and less clothing, and so smoothly, was beyond Matthías’ comprehension - he told himself he would congratulate the dancer on his performance the first chance he got. 

The singer sat cross-legged with his back against one of the walls, absentmindedly tracing a pattern on the collar he was wearing as he watched Sólbjört and Ástrós working on choreography with Violet. Unlike their normal stage shows, the moves wouldn’t be completely planned: instead the focus was on getting the outline together for the Domme so that she was able to improvise her own techniques. The two female members of Hatari would choreograph something else for the band shots. 

The time was creeping closer and despite wearing it in numerous performances, the wide leather collar now fastened around his neck felt heavier than it ever had before. He closed his eyes, drinking up the only solitude he would have before the spotlight was on him. He was only still for a moment before he was shifting where he sat, rearranging the cold metal links of the connected leash as they brushed against his chest where it hung like a pendulum, waiting. 

Violet suggested crossing the studio floor in this new side of his character as a way of getting into the submissive headspace. Something he eventually agreed on after a few protests. The crawl between his “spot of sulking” as Klemens has dubbed it and the area they were recording could have been the entire length of Iceland for how long it seemed to take it got there. He could feel his cheeks burning even with his head down, being led by Lady Violet holding his leash. When they were on their marks he took a deep breath. He barely heard the director call action, and it was a tug on the leash that got him moving.

\------

They had pulled the music video together in the span of a day and a half, with Matthías’ parts filmed in one session and the band cut-ins filmed separately afterwards. The music was recorded and laid down on top and everything mixed down into the final product. All that was left was for Hatari to sit down to watch it. Matthías had all but washed his hands of the production, giving his opinion on a couple of decisions involving the lyrics, but leaving music and editing to Klemens and Einar. Regardless, everyone was excited to watch it: as Einar was the only person to have seen the final mix there were murmurs and questions about what it would look like from everyone else present. 

Einar hit play on the laptop, and then sat back down next to Sólbjört, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as everyone went quiet, and the screen moved from black to stark white. The black knee-high boots filled the screen next to a kneeling Matthías, his wrists bound in cuffs in front of him and his face cast up to the boot-clad hidden figure. His eyes were wide and pleading as the leash was drawn taut, pulling him towards the woman, a shadow of her shape revealing only a little about herself. He pulled back, resisting against the leash as much as possible with the collar tight around his throat and without the use of his hands. The struggle was fruitless and with a hand slipped under his collar, he was pulled back to his last spot as if he weighed nothing. 

While not audible on the video, Matthías remembered his shaky gasp and exhale when her hand slipped under his collar, her soft skin caressing his throat, and the whispered reassurances from her, out of shot of the camera, as she pulled him back to his original spot, turning him away, so he could crawl forward. He kept a mask of confusion on his face, mixed with a little fear, as he was pushed roughly forward.

The video switched to the band, a close up of Klemens dancing and singing along with Matthías’ vocals and Einar staring down the camera. Watching on the sofa Matthías took a breath as quietly as possible. He had his head down, looking at the floor as he felt the small movement of surprise from Klemens next to him. The camera had gone back to Matthías, who was shoved forward by a boot to get him crawling, the female figure striding past him and jerking the leash demanding he catch up. 

The act of crawling stuck in Matthías’ mind. It wasn’t evident on his face in the video, but the floor was hard under his knees even with the leather trousers. He felt the first beginnings of arousal slither under his skin while he was crawling, much like it had when he knelt onstage before all those people. Maybe that was why he kept his head down on screen, occasionally glancing up to watch the calves in front of him covered by the boots. 

“Wow.” 

The barely audible word breathed out by Sólbjört next to Matthías. He watched himself change from tortured to suspicious of being loved by the unknown Domme. Hands smoothed down the side of his face on-screen, but he could feel them again as he watched, carding through his hair oh-so-gently, sweeping down and massaging his shoulders. He saw the flinch as the hand goes through his hair for the first time, and was surprised to feel pleasure that no one else knew the story behind that flinch. Her movements are reassuring, gentle, and almost desperate towards him as the song continues. The mood changes and Matthías’ character resists, pulling away from the loving caresses and straining against the leash attaching him to the woman. He’ll do anything to get away from her, he’ll be anything. 

Klemens’ chorus comes to an end and Matthías’ eyes open a little wider because he knows what will happen next. A flash of his usual dominant character flashes through his eyes and his posture as he grabs the leash with bound hands, but it’s short-lived. Her boot presses him down, first by the back, like he had done so many times to Klemens, and then against the ground by his neck. 

Someone makes a little noise of surprise on the sofa and Matthías isn’t sure who it is, he can’t look as his eyes are glued to the screen. He can feel the studio floor on his cheek as he watches himself on screen, struggling to get up as the boot presses him back down. The struggle is in every muscle, flexing in his back and his legs as he tries to stand. Tears gather in his eyes, dropping heavily and rolling down his cheek onto the floor as he sings as much as he can in this position. The shot cuts away to the band, and it’s in this break in drama that Matthías’ notices Klemens’ arm wrapping around his shoulders, mostly because of how squished they are on the sofa, but also as a little show of comfort and reassurance for his cousin. Matthí gives him a quick glance, a small smile of appreciation and then his attention goes back to the screen. 

He doesn’t need to look at the screen to know what’s next. He can feel her hands on his face, and trailing down over the collar and down his throat. Firm but gentle fingers caressing down his chest, tipped with those sharp nails that skim across his stomach. On the screen those fingers dip low to the hem of the leather trousers, even dare to dip slightly below it. There’s a good-natured ribbing around him as on screen he’s caressed and touched. The woman whose face is still concealed moves behind him, pulling him by the hips, so he’s flush against her. One hand holds the shackled wrists as the fingers of her other hand brush across his clothed crotch in a slow, light sweep. There are little ‘oohs’ that Matthías knows are making him blush slightly, as the fingers make patterns on his bare chest; he can’t help but rearrange his arms to cover his lap as best he can, even as Klemens good-naturedly pats him on the back. 

What could have easily turned into a full sex scene quickly changes as the music moves from the duo to the band and back again. Matthías sees himself fade from a bliss-filled man wanting nothing more than her touch to his harder stage character, turning and snarling at the woman behind him. She slaps him, jerking the leash down aggressively and Matthías feels the sofa jump even though the slap is silent. 

He doesn’t focus on the music video as much after that, as it repeats between his struggle and the leash holder’s control over him. He settles into the sofa and watches Sólbjört and Ástrós ‘offering’ him up on screen, the leash tight, and the collar cutting into his neck. Although it looks rough, both women are gentle compared to Violet. At certain moments he can feel the collar around his own neck, and he’s grateful when the music video ends at the stand-off, both leashed and leash holder, her face cast into shadow, staring into each other’s eyes. 

It takes a few minutes before Matthías is back to reality and realizes everyone is waiting for his opinion. “It’s good.” Then he excuses himself and leaves the room. He needs to pay Violet another visit.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I'm planning a sequel.


End file.
